Chapter III: Part 3

I have seen a man-of-war’s man take a little Maltese kitten from the street outside the Boston Navy Yard gate, covered with mange and sores, and nestle it in the folds of his blue shirt while he conveyed it aboard the _Wabash_. Here it found a home. Poor little puss was fed and doctored, and in a short while she was the pet of the ship. She lived to be the mother of a large family. I recall her looks as she rubbed her fur against my trousers when I lifted the box containing her little ones on to the sill of a gun port, so that they would be clear of the water when we washed decks.

It was the duty of one man to care for the float which was used as a landing at the wharf off which the _Wabash_ was moored. Almost every cat in the Navy Yard was acquainted with him. In this sailor’s makeup there was an abundant supply of love for cats. In his bunk in the small shanty on the float, a whole family of cats could be found at any time. Unmolested, they did as they pleased.

I have a fondness for monkeys and whenever an opportunity was given me to own one I took advantage of it. Of all pets, they afforded me the most pleasure. Once during a calm in the Straits of Sunda the natives of Java visited us. In their canoes there were lots of yams, sweet potatoes and monkeys. Having no money we exchanged our clothing for pets. I gave a flannel shirt for a small macaque. My jinny was very affectionate. In my watch below she cuddled herself in my arms and slept. Sometimes I would have just fallen asleep when she would take hold of my eyelids and try to open them. It was fun to see her catch the water bugs and eat them. The hair on her head formed a beautiful crest, which she enjoyed having combed. During the dog watches we romped and played like children.

One evening I came from the wheel at eight o’clock. Before turning in I looked for my jinny. No where could I find her. At last I heard her scream on the top of the forward house. I hastened up there and between the boats under the mainstay, I found my pet under an empty beef barrel with a booby. The ship’s cook had caught the bird and had put it and jinny under the barrel. The dear little monkey was insane with fright. I could do nothing with her. Her reason was entirely gone, so I secured some lumps of coal and tied them in a bit of old canvas and sank my pet in the deep. I would have liked to treat the cook in the same manner but being too small to grapple with him, I held my peace.

This cowardly poltroon, the ship’s cook, was a brutal fellow. He owned several monkeys and in trying to make them perform tricks he murdered them. His last monkey was rescued from drowning. One day this savage cook was angry with his little jacko because he did not come to him when called. He struck the frightened monkey over the head with a potato masher and cast him overboard. The captain, standing on the poop deck, saw the monkey was still alive and threw the coil of the spanker sheet to him. We were sailing slowly and poor jacko had just strength enough to hold on while the skipper lifted him on board. The medicine chest was opened, his bruises stitched and cared for, and he became the protege of the quarter deck. Often while standing a trick at the wheel I watched the little fellow bask in the sun. The bandages around his head made him resemble some old men I have seen in hospitals.

Another time I was on a vessel loading fustic in Maracaibo, for Boston. Our captain was fond of pets of any kind, so he granted us a few dollars to buy monkeys and parrots. Our ship was a floating menagerie. There were seven monkeys and nine parrots. Among this lot was a large spider monkey. The naturalist has correctly named this horrid creature. He was a black object whose body was about the size of a full grown cat, having long arms and a tail much longer than his body. He was a hideous creature. Unlike the other monkeys, he could not stand captivity. While the others became accustomed to their new surroundings and remained on deck, his only delight was to be in the rigging. Shortly after leaving Maracaibo, skin disease was visible through his harsh, black fur, which made him extremely miserable. Far different were the weeper monkeys. These mischievous fellows afforded us much pleasure.

Forward of the forecastle there was a coop of hens. Before they were killed for the cabin use they were devoid of feathers, for the monkeys delighted to put their paws into the coop and pluck the feathers. When we reached the American coast, our pets, both monkeys and parrots, suffered from the cold weather. They contracted colds in the head and severe coughs, insomuch that we were forced to sell them to the cook for a mere trifle, for he could furnish them with the warmth of his galley.

We were wind bound in Vineyard Sound for several days. About three o’clock one early morning we were called to man the boat and go in search of a doctor as one of the crew was taken ill. By the time we were through with the doctor and had returned to the ship after putting him ashore, it was drawing close to daylight. We were allowed to sleep in till breakfast, so I thought I would have another nap. As I got into my bunk I rolled on a dead monkey and a parrot; each one of us had the same experience. The cook had played a joke on us. When he was called at four o’clock he found every one of his pets dead. Not only the monkeys and parrots, but a cat and her three kittens. They had all been suffocated by the coal gas of the galley stove.

During a cruise on a war vessel we called in at several ports in Madagascar. Before we finally left the island we had a large supply of what the sailors called Madagascar cats. These Lemuroids (half monkey and half cat) took possession of the ship. Their arboreal lives made them discontented with the flat surface of the deck, but once they were allowed to climb the rigging, they seemed satisfied with their new surroundings. The majority of these pets slept during the day, but in the evening, as the sun neared the western horizon they were wide awake and full of animation. The boatswain’s mate in the starboard gangway owned a most peculiar gray Lemur. During the day he remained cuddled up in some corner, his head and face covered with his tail; but as soon as he felt the cool of the evening approaching, he would jump in the rigging and watch for a chance to spring on some man’s head. His soft, prominent eyes had a pleasing expression and he would close them when his fur was stroked, manifesting pleasure in being caressed. He had a large, round head, set close on his shoulders, short fore limbs and long hind ones. His tail was bushy and his slender body was covered with a thick gray coat of fur which was like plush to the touch, and he was fed on bread soaked in condensed milk. As soon as we sailed into Southern latitudes our Madagascar cats succumbed to the cold.

In Bahia one of the ward room officers bought two yellow puppies, which lived forward, and one of the men was paid a small sum to care for them. The carpenter’s mate had two marmosets, and as soon as the yellow dogs came aboard, they pounced upon their backs, showing a fondness for horse back riding. At first the canines disliked this treatment and tried every device to dismount their riders. The only relief they found from the marmosets was to crawl under the bottom step of the forecastle head ladder, and scrape them off their backs. Later on, one of the marmosets was taken sick and died and the other became more affectionate and less distrustful. One morning we were surprised to hear the boatswain’s mates call us to “stand by our hammocks.” We all wondered what this could mean, but in a few moments the word was passed for us to take them below, unlash them and see if the marmoset was in some man’s bed.

The carpenter’s mate had missed his pet; he searched every place for him and at last it occurred to him that “Tippy” must have been lashed in some bed as he usually slept at the head of a hammock. Sure enough. The little marmoset was discovered under the blankets in a hammock, where he had been smothered. Poor little fellow. We all mourned our loss.

The yellow puppies grew to be large dogs. Just as soon as a boat was called away they were at the gangway ready to visit the shore. Without a guide they roamed the streets of strange cities, and when tired of that, like old salts they made for the boat landing and came aboard. They were two wise creatures, for when ashore they knew the men of their ship among a crowd of other sailors, and kept in company with the ones who were under the influence of strong drink, protecting them from being robbed.

One afternoon it was blowing a stiff pampero in Montevideo Bay. The steam launch left the ship to make a safe mooring alongside of a wharf, and as the two dogs wanted to go ashore, they jumped overboard in hope of overtaking her. The short, choppy seas soon exhausted their strength and both were drowned.

On another vessel we had a goat. She was kept tied on the main hatch. Once free, she fed on any clothes that were in her reach and butted any person who came in her way. When she was at liberty it took two or more men to secure her, for she was a vixen whose temper was savage and unappeasable.

It has been my privilege to be shipmate with almost every kind of living creature, animals, insects and birds, and in closing I will say a few words about the much hated rats.

I was on a brig sailing between the West Indies and New York, which had a full complement of rats. Some of them were tame. There was one fat fellow who found his way to my bunk. At first he was timid but he mastered it and was exceedingly friendly, for I could hold a pan for him to eat, but if I attempted to stroke his fur he would skedaddle away. It was amusing to watch them steal molasses from the casks. They sat on the bung hole and allowed their tails to trail within. By licking each other’s tail they secured a plentiful supply.

HOW SAILORS WASH THEIR CLOTHES

How Sailors Wash Their Clothes

We must have been about ten days out from Barbados on my first trip to sea, when Captain Dunscombe ordered me to bring all my traps on deck for his inspection. I felt ashamed to expose my ignorance, for I had never washed a shirt, made a bed, or sewn on a button; in fact I did not know how to care for my clothing and bedding.

During my short period of sea-sickness I had soiled some of my clothes and had stowed them in my cubby hole, the sail locker. The colored cook used a part of this locker in which to keep his stores, and while rummaging around the mainsail which was stowed there, he discovered my offensive clothing and brought it on deck for the old man to see what a dirty boy he had aboard. True enough, for at this time I had not a clean garment in my outfit. My first lesson in cleanliness was now given.

Captain Dunscombe had one of his sailors fill a deck bucket with fresh water, and, seating himself by my side, he taught me how to wash my clothes. It was a new experience for me. It seems strange to me that my sailor brothers did not tell my mother that it was necessary for me to know how to wash and mend my clothes. No doubt they thought of it, but they knew that in Barbados it was almost impossible for a respectable family to wash their clothes, as it was considered degrading, so the negroes did that work. And again, the method of washing clothes is very different from that of northern countries. The negro washer women carry the clothes to some running stream or river, and after giving them a few rubs on a small board, they rinse them in the ocean by pounding them on a white boulder at ebb tide. Then they are spread on the white, burning sands of the beach to dry. I had no knowledge of wash tubs and scrubbing boards, and had never seen clothes soaped and rubbed between the hands, therefore, the lesson I was then receiving on the _Meteor_ was very much needed.

Before I proceed farther, I will advise every mother whose boy is determined to follow the sea for a living, to take her youngster into her kitchen and there give him his first lesson in a sailor’s calling. Teach him how to wash his clothes; instruct him in the making of his bed; have him sew on his buttons, and put a patch on his trousers or mend a rent in his shirt; then as he enters upon his duties as boy on board his vessel, he will thank you for his instructions. Make sure that he can care for the dishes, the knives and forks; let him be the housemaid, cook, the factotum of the home, for the more proficient he is in such duties, the more efficient deck boy he will be. Instead of a dirty slouch he will be a clean, tidy lad.

As there are no washer women on board a ship, it devolves upon every man to do for himself the personal services which are done for men on land, by the other sex.

After spending fully two hours rubbing and rinsing my clothes, I was then shown how to secure them to the footstops of the mainsail; so that they would not blow overboard. As cabin boy, I not only received my lessons in arranging the dining table for meals, washing and wiping dishes, but was fortunate to have a friend to teach me how to wash and mend. I have seen boys enlist as apprentices, yes, landsmen too, young men fresh from the country, who were utterly unable to grapple with the conditions of their new surroundings. Unprepared for that self-reliance which is suddenly thrust upon them, they go for days and days without washing their clothes, until they are forced to do so by the officer of their division.

I remember a lad of tender age who had enlisted as an apprentice. On several occasions he was reported for being dirty and at last one day his bag was brought on deck. As soon as the mouth was opened, a foul odor emanated from his clothing. The poor little fellow had done his best and had tried to keep clean as well as he knew how, but this had proved a failure. His condition elicited the sympathy of an old “flat foot.” The aged jack tar took the bag of clothes on a float alongside the ship, and there with brush, soap and water, taught the lad how to wash his clothes and helped him get his outfit clean once more.

I was once on board a large American sailing ship where we had a middle aged man among our crew. He was a native of Belgium and could speak no English. The poor man had a sore time of it on deck and hardly any better treatment when below among his mates. One day when we had been about four weeks at sea the sailor who slept in the lower bunk under the “Joskin”, growled about the dirt and rubbish that was constantly falling on him from the Belgian’s bunk. Every time the unfortunate farmer rolled in his sleep, down would fall some dirt on the face of his shipmate, disturbing his rest. It grew worse every day till at last the sailor in the lower bunk inspected the joskin’s donkey’s breakfast. In overhauling it he discovered that the whole bunk was alive with vermin. His dirty clothes had been pushed under the mattress, his bedding and what few clothes he owned were filthy beyond description. The greenhorn had no knowledge of washing clothes. One of the sailors bent on the end of an old piece of rope to the clothes and threw them over the side where for four hours they were hauled on the surface of the Atlantic till they were almost towed into shreds.

On a deep water sailing ship the water supply is a very important factor. As there is no knowing how much rain water may be caught to replenish the supply, every man must be careful and not waste any. I have seen times when it became necessary to put the crew on an allowance of water which was hardly enough for drinking purposes. How then can a sailor wash his face, much less his clothes at a time like this?

On a voyage to Japan I was five weeks without a drop of fresh water on my face. We were on our allowance, and in the heat of the tropics we could have used as much again to quench our thirsts. Each morning I washed my face with salt water till I could brush the salt from my features and see it fall in scales on my jumper. We were steering to the south’ard and longingly looked for the rain deluges of the tropics. When that solid down-pour fell upon us we all turned out from below with dirty clothes and blankets, and made a lather of soap visible everywhere. To keep clean during the days we were on our allowance, I bent on my clothes to the end of my chest lashing, and had the ship haul them along on the crest of the waves. In this way much dirt was removed. The towing of clothes, if the ship is making good headway, reduces the sailor’s wardrobe, for it will not take many hours for a vessel to drag a piece of clothing to ribbons, if she is sailing at a good rate.

When a youngster I took my blankets out over the bow and bending on a line, allowed them to drag close to the stem of the ship. The wavelets from her bow tumbled them over and over as they trailed in front of the old girl’s nose. In an hour when I hauled them aboard they were as clean as when I brought them from the store. This was such an easy method of cleaning blankets that in about two month’s time I thought I would give them another drag over the bow. But alas! I forgot to take them in on going below. Next morning when I remembered them I hurriedly reached the bowsprit and found instead of the white folds of my blankets rolling themselves among the foam at the bow, a dirty woolen mass wrapped around the rusty chain bobstays. I tried to release it but could not, as the vessel was then ducking into the waves of a strong trade wind.

It fell a dead calm one forenoon, so I got overboard to unwrap my blankets from the bobstay. I was not molested even though my shipmates tried to frighten me by shouting “a shark” while I was overboard, but my labor was in vain, for my blankets were now a heap of shreds covered with iron rust. Fortunately the slop chest was supplied with a few blankets made of “dogs wool and oakum,” or I should have shivered in my bunk when we sailed into cold weather. On another occasion I was on a ship where the captain did not allow any towing of clothes over the side, as he claimed it decreased the speed of his vessel. At night he prowled around the decks and if there was a line made fast on deck on which some sailor was towing his clothes, he would set the whole adrift, a serious loss to the owner.

A sailor’s great delight is to overhaul his belongings. His vessel is at anchor in the bay or perhaps moored alongside some wharf. He has been hard at work from daylight till dark every day of the week. Sunday morning has dawned, and as soon as the decks have been cleaned, he has the remaining portion of the Sabbath to himself. Up comes his bag or chest on deck and the contents are aired and dried. Then it is he can sit on the coamings of the hatch, or on a spare spar or bucket, and gathering his dirty duds around him, with soap and plenty of fresh water, he can wash to his heart’s delight. The method on a man-of-war is different. Keeping one’s clothes clean is an important matter on such a vessel. On some war ships there are three days in which the man can wash clothes while in port, while on others only two wash days a week are allowed. The evening before the wash clothes day, just before sunset, the different parts of the ship are ordered by the officer of the deck through the boatswain’s mates to get up their clothes line. These lines are two single ropes reaching the full length of the ship. At certain distances apart there are stirrups about four feet deep holding them together. After the whips are hooked on to the lines, a man stands by at each whip waiting for the quartermaster to report sundown. Then as the colors are being lowered the lines are triced aloft in their places. At such a time there may be other evolutions in progress; the light yards are coming down, the awnings triced up; everything accomplished as though it were the movements of one great machine.

The question of fresh water arises at this time. The paymaster has served us with salt water soap, a mixture of potash and grease which does not give the cleansing lather in salt water that ordinary soap will give in fresh. It is a poor substitute at its best. Fresh water on a war vessel is a scarce luxury. The condenser is at work most of the time for there are many men to use the supply. Therefore a marine is stationed at the scuttle butt to see that no water is taken from it except for drinking. There is a dipper fastened to the butt and each man must drink what he needs in the presence of the sentry. I have seen men resort to every device to secure a bucket of water to wash their clothes. I, myself, have worked the drip bucket scheme. As there is a bucket placed by the scuttle butt to receive the drippings and leavings of the dipper, we have planned to make frequent visits to the scuttle butt, fill the dipper, then take a mouthful and empty the remainder into the save-all pail. In a little while the bucket needs to be emptied. We are ready to do this, and so secure a couple of gallons of water.

Again, when on friendly terms with the firemen on watch, they would allow us to sneak down to the fireroom and draw a bucket full from the condenser. In port when alongside a navy yard dock, it was different. Then our supply was plentiful, but at sea, or at anchor in a foreign harbor, we had to watch our chances to steal a bucketful to wash our clothes.

On a certain war vessel the “first luff” gave a standing order, that every part of the ship was to have a bucket of fresh water to swab off the white paint on the bulwarks. Sometimes this water was used for this purpose, but more frequently it was kept hidden back of a gun carriage till the decks were cleaned. Then we would divide the water between us. We had fully fourteen men in our part of the ship which was a large number to bathe in this one pail. Still it was better than salt water. I have washed in less than half a gallon of water which several men had already used. Although only muddy soapsuds, thick enough to be cut with a knife, it removed the dirt from my face and I could then give myself the final polish by dousing my face with clean salt water.

If in port and the awnings were housed so as to shelter the crew from the falling rain, every wash deck bucket was put into use. When the awnings are housed only a few stops are in use and the remaining ones make excellent places to fasten an empty bucket. The weight of it forms a ridge on the awning. In this way we could secure water at times for washing purposes.

We had a sailing launch which was seldom used. Only when all boats armed and equipped for distance service, were called away, or to abandon ship, did her keel touch the sea. This Noah’s Ark was a secluded place for the maintop men. Resting in her crutches in their part of the ship, they could hide a bucket of water from the eyes of the “first luff,” or the officer of the deck.

It is the duty of the coxswain of each boat to see that his boat’s water breaker is filled, especially when at sea. On this same ship the coxswain of the first cutter was lowered on the conduct class as a punishment for not having his boat’s breaker filled. It was not his fault. Before the ship had left the harbor he had filled his breaker, but some thoughtless fellow had lifted the corner of the boat’s cover and getting into the boat, had stolen the water. It was useless for the coxswain to make this statement for he had no proof, and even if he had, he would have settled it on the forecastle head and not at the mast. It was well for the thief he was not caught. He would have been court-martialed and well he deserved it. If we had met with an accident and had to abandon our vessel, some twenty or more men would have been at sea in an open boat without water.

When in port we were called at five o’clock each morning. One half hour was allowed for coffee; then if it was a morning to wash clothes the officer of the deck would order the boatswain’s mates to pipe, “scrub and wash clothes.” In both the starboard and port gangways, on top and under the forecastle head the crew would do their washing. Sometimes a blue flannel shirt which did not need much cleansing, or a white duck suit too stiff to rub between the hands, were placed on deck, and the dirt removed by rubbing the scrub brush over them, after first applying a liberal coating of soapsuds.

It may be dark at such an hour according to the latitude we were in, or the season of year, but whatever the conditions are, the man who is scrubbing his clothes must see to it that he wets the deck before he begins to scrub, otherwise the soapsuds will sink into the dry deck, and unless it is a morning when holy stones are in order it will require much strength on a hickory broom to remove them. He also sees to it in scrubbing, that his soapsuds do not spatter the gun carriages, for if they do and he neglects to wash them off, he will receive a scolding and a growl from the chief of growlers, the quarter gunner.

If we had many pieces of clothing to scrub we would hurry and get through, for in thirty minutes’ time the boatswain’s mates would be ordered to lower the lines and in another ten minutes they were triced aloft. If we were not through on time and missed the lines, we would have to care for our wet clothing, keeping it out of sight. Often I have been late in reaching the clothes line and have sneaked into the sailing launch and there spread my things on the thwarts to dry.

Experience soon taught the green horns where not to hang their clothes on the lines. Stretched from stem to stern, that portion near the mainstay or close to the eyes of the lower main rigging, or any place in close proximity to the smoke stack was undesirable. For if the wind does not blow your washed garments against these sooted stays and shrouds, in some way they will come in contact with the smoke stack, when they are piped down in the afternoon. On a morning when hammocks were scrubbed those who were through first selected the best place on the lines near the mizzenmast or forward of the fore mast. It was necessary to have our hammocks spotless; otherwise at evening quarters the division officer would reject them and order us to scrub them over again the next wash day. I have seen men who were slow in heeding the call to “stand by their scrubbed hammocks,” compelled to scrub their hammocks two, three and four times over before they were passed as clean. It was their own fault as, instead of being on deck standing under their hammocks to receive them and to keep them from striking against the smoke stack guys, or being trampled on the deck by others who were removing theirs, they were enjoying an afternoon nap in some secluded corner of the ship.

The method of washing clothes at sea varies little from that in port. There is a sea clothes line about six lengths of rope, stirrupped together about four feet apart. These lines are secured between the main and mizzen rigging. We were allowed to scrub our clothes every morning except Sunday. At this rate it was only three wash days a week, as those would be the mornings we were on deck. The crew was divided into two watches and this gave a different watch on deck each morning.

Among the many ways of earning a few dollars on a man-of-war, the scrubbing of clothes and hammocks is one of the most lucrative. There are several first class petty officers who pay others to do their scrubbing. A thrifty apprentice or landsman can earn his spending money doing this work. We had an ordinary seaman who made almost as much money scrubbing clothes and hammocks for the first class petty officers, as he earned as a salary from the government. He charged seventy-five cents a hammock, and some mornings he would be on the forecastle head long before all hands were called, working with soapsuds to his waist, scrubbing with all his might. Had he saved his money I should say it was a profitable task, but it was only a labor for “Dirty Dick’s” saloon and the dance halls on Calle St. Theresa in Montevideo.

THE LEAD LINE

The Lead Line

Since the coming of the mariners’ compass many centuries ago, navigation has made steady headway. It is now an exact science, and vessels properly equipped with needed instruments and with men able to use them, can, no matter what the winds or seas, or how extended the voyage, be brought safely to their destination.

The instruments used in navigation are, the compass, by which ship’s courses are steered; the sextant by which observations of the sun, moon and stars are taken, and through which the latitude is ascertained; the chronometer by which the longitude is determined; the log, which measures the ship’s speed; the chart on which the ship’s position is daily traced; the barometer which gives the weight of the atmosphere and warning of coming storms; the hydrometer which shows the saltness of the sea; the thermometer which tells the temperature of the ocean; and the sounding lead which gives the depth of water and the nature of the bottom over which the ship is sailing.

The compass, the first in importance to the navigator, was known to the Chinese centuries before the Christian era, and was brought to Europe by the renowned Asiatic traveler, Marco Polo, in the latter part of the thirteenth century. And though improved in many ways the property of polarity in the lodestone, still remains the leading essential.

Careful steering, and good charts are next to the compass. But while sights and observations, the study of the barometer, thermometer and hydrometer should all be faithfully attended to, the lead line will hold its place as one of the important guides to navigation until something is invented whereby the master mariner can penetrate the fog and clouds that obscure the sun and other celestial objects.

The neglect of taking proper soundings has caused the loss of more ships and lives than can be enumerated.

In days long past the anxious navigator has found relief by resorting to the use of the lead line. The story of St. Paul’s shipwreck tells how the sailors on his vessel deemed that they drew near to land and that they resorted to the use of the lead and line. “When they had gone a little farther, they sounded again and found fifteen fathoms.”

There are seamen who have followed the sea for years and have had no experience with the lead line or any sounding apparatus. They have been on long voyages where it was not necessary to take soundings. I have sailed from land to land more than six months to reach our port of discharge, and during that time the lead has not been cast. Again, during a trip on a three-masted schooner from La Guayra to Maracaibo, we were using the lead as much as the compass in our navigation, even on this short passage.

Although a sailor may have no experience with the lead still he has a knowledge of its use in soundings. Long before I had ever taken a cast I knew how it should be done. My first experience of the deep-sea lead was on the Bermudan brig _Excelsior_. We were drawing near to the American coast bound in to New York, when we were enveloped in thick fog. Our captain was a competent navigator, and to make sure of his whereabouts after sailing without the sun or stars for three days, it became necessary for him to seek information from the bottom of the sea. Although there was no danger in getting a cast of the lead, as there was very little wind, still on some occasions I have seen all hands called and sail shortened, involving much labor at the peril of life.

I was once on a large American ship where for a whole night we were standing off the Delaware Capes in an easterly gale, and were forced to use deep-sea lead. At considerable peril and much loss of rest for the crew, the ship was rounded to the wind in the face of a dangerous sea, so as to check her speed. Twice during that night we had to haul up the mainsail and lay the mainyard back. At such a time every man is expected to know his duty. Should the night be as dark as pitch, an able seaman must take the lead, weighing twenty-eight pounds, on the forecastle head. He must see that the small cavity in the lower end is “armed”--filled--with tallow. This reveals the nature of the bottom when the lead is hauled aboard. It may be gravel, sand, mud, but whatever it is, it will aid the master in his navigation, as the nature of the bottom of the coast is marked on the chart.

In the meantime others had manned the rail, and starting from the quarter they pass the line along on the outside of the ship, till the end reaches the man on the forecastle head. Here he bends on the end of the line to the lead by reeving the eye splice on the end of the line, through the grummet on the top of the lead, allowing the lead to drop through the eye splice.

All being ready, the man on the forecastle head throws the lead overboard, well to windward, shouting as he does so, “Heave.” The man nearest to him feels the tug on the line, and he then throws what he has in his hand to windward making sure the bight of the line is clear of all eyebolts, and shouts, “Watch, there, watch.” Then the next man as he feels the strain lets go of what he is holding and shouts the signal, “Watch, there, watch,” and so on until the line reaches the leadsman aft. Then if the lead has not struck the bottom he pays out the line and tries to get a sounding. Usually there is an officer aft at the line. He feels that the strain is released and taps the lead two or three times to make sure of his soundings, and then notes the depth by the marks on the line.

The deep-sea lead is about one hundred and twenty fathoms, the first twenty fathoms of it being sometimes marked like the hand lead of which I shall write later. Beginning at twenty fathoms, there is a small piece of cod line with two knots on it, thirty fathoms, the same with three knots, forty fathoms with four knots, and so on up to one hundred fathoms. Half-way between each there is a strip of leather. The length of the lead itself is not counted in this measurement, so the ship gets the benefit of the depth plus the length of the lead. Usually a small snatchblock is on the mizzen backstay for the purpose of hauling the lead aboard. At night the officer of the watch carries the lead to the binnacle light and then reports to the captain the depth of the cast and the nature of the bottom on the tallow.

I once saved a collection from the bottom of the River Rio de la Plata. It was a curious assortment of bits of shell and teeth of small fish. I have heard old sailors tell of finding rare coins, finger rings and pieces of human bones fastened on the tallow of the deep-sea lead.

It is a doleful sound to hear each man along the rail shouting, “Watch, there, watch!” I once saw the second mate of ship leave the poop, and, running down to the main deck, hustle a fellow along who was slow in getting aft to haul in the lead line. After the lead was aboard he received this warning: “When I say come I want you to run, and when I say run I want you to fly, and when you fly, flap your wings or I’ll make you.” This had a good effect, for before the end of the voyage he lost his easy gait and could “hop light and come a running” as well as any on board.

The hand lead line is between twenty-five and thirty fathoms long, according to the height of vessel from the water, but only the first twenty fathoms are used in sounding. I have seen the planks on the deck of an English square rigger marked for the purpose of measuring a new lead line, but on vessels in which I have sailed this was done with a three-foot rule and a bit of chalk. A good-sized eye is spliced in one end, and after wetting the line it is stretched, measured and then marked. The hand lead line consists of nine marks and eleven deeps. Beginning at two fathoms, a piece of leather with two ends is tucked into the strand of the line, at three fathoms there are three ends of leather; at five fathoms a piece of white calico, at seven a piece of red bunting, at ten a strip of leather with a hole in it, at thirteen a piece of blue cloth, at fifteen a piece of white calico, at seventeen a piece of red bunting, and at twenty fathoms a bit of cord with two knots.

On some lead lines instead of white calico or blue cloth, bunting of the same color is used, but for accurate soundings on a dark night, the leadsman can put the mark in his mouth and with his tongue tell whether it is cloth, calico or bunting, or he may by feeling the marks tell the difference if his fingers are not too cold. The fathoms which are not marked are termed “deeps.” They are 1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 11, 12, 14, 16, 18, 19.

If a sailing ship is in thick fog close to land the officer of the watch may call a man aft and have him take a cast of the hand lead, or he may do it himself, but on some ocean steamers and yachts the lead is in constant use on entering and leaving harbor.

On a war vessel as soon as the ship draws near to the channel the leadsman is at his post. He fastens a large canvas apron to the shrouds of the rigging so that it will hold him as he stretches his body well over on the outside of his ship. The apron reaching to his feet, protects him from the water falling from the line. Making fast one end of the line to a shroud he takes hold of the other end about nine feet from the lead, and then swings the lead backward and forward till there is motion enough for him to swing it over his head two or three times. He must then let it go at the right time, so that it will drop close alongside under the bow. By the time the vessel has reached the place where the lead sunk it has had time to reach the bottom. As the line comes up and down under the leadsman he taps the bottom smartly and shouts the depth of water to the officer on the bridge. If he sees the piece of red bunting on the surface of the water he calls out, “By the mark seven.” If it should be some distance from the water, he uses his judgment and calls “A quarter less seven,” or “And a half six,” “And a quarter six.” Perhaps he feels safe in believing the mark seven is a good fathom from the water and calls “By the deep six,” and so on through the nine marks and eleven deeps, he calls the soundings he receives. Generally the hand lead weighs seven pounds, but when the vessel is going at a good rate of speed a fourteen pound lead is necessary. It requires much practice to become a good leadsman. The starboard leadsman throws the lead with his right hand and the port with his left.

On a certain war vessel we had a seaman who was accustomed to throw the lead from the starboard chains. He was changed to the foretop and his first cast of the lead from the port chains caused a man to go on the sick list for several days. Instead of the lead dropping on the outside of the ship it landed on the starboard side of the forecastle head, falling on the feet of a fireman. It was well the force of the lead was broken by first striking the fish davit or it would have broken the man’s head.

Whenever the apprentices were instructed in casting the lead we took good care to keep out of the way, as there was no telling where the lead would drop, for it might go all over the forecastle head instead of the sea. A good leadsman is a valuable man. A part of the examination a merchant sailor receives when he joins the navy is a cast of the lead.

I recall the first time I saw Lord Kelvin’s (Sir William Thomson,) sounding machine used. I was then on a war vessel. The boatswain’s mate sent me aft to assist the quartermaster in taking a cast of the lead.

This machine consists of about three hundred fathoms of galvanized wire to which is attached a glass tube about fifteen inches long by three quarters of an inch in diameter. This tube contains a secret chemical compound on the principal of the thermometer. To the tube is fastened a rod of small iron called the sinker, which, when sounding takes the tube to the bottom where the density of the water acting on the chemical therein shows when carefully read on the indicator, also attached to the tube, the exact depth of the water.

With the ship going at full speed ahead, the quartermaster, aided by two men to attend the brakes and wind in the wire, it ascertained correctly the depth of one hundred fathoms in less than ten minutes.

The seamen to-day feel kindly disposed to this sounding machine which has removed the hardship of the deep-sea lead, and navigators the world over feel greatly indebted to Lord Kelvin, not only for his sounding machine, but because in many ways he has done more than any other man to advance the science of navigation.

RHYMES FORETELLING WEATHER

Rhymes Foretelling Weather

There is considerable truth in the rhymes used by seamen in detecting signs of a coming storm. Although it matters little to a modern steamer what the weather is, as long as it keeps clear, still if such an up-to-date craft is in the hurricane regions during the season, it will give the master much anxiety.

Tropical cyclones generally originate in about latitude 10° north or south of the equator. The sign of an approaching hurricane is the ugly threatening appearance which comes ahead of most severe gales, and increases in severity at every gust. Sometimes a long heavy swell and confused sea will precede the hurricane, rolling from the direction in which the hurricane is approaching. The halo around the sun, the moist and heavy air with squalls of misty rain, the light feathery whitish glare of the sky all give evidence that bad weather is at hand. In northern latitudes a mackerel sky moving rapidly from the westward indicates an approaching westerly gale. The mare’s tail is another sign of a coming storm. Oily looking clouds tell of wind, while soft ones speak of fine weather. High upper clouds crossing the sun and moon in a direction opposite to that from which the wind is blowing indicate a change of wind coming from that direction. When the first glimmer of dawn appears over a bank of clouds instead of the horizon, it foretells wind. When the first streaks of light appear on the horizon expect fine weather. A rapid rise of the barometer indicates unsettled weather. A slow, steady rise foretells fair weather. A rapid fall a heavy gale with rain.

“A red sky in the morning,
Sailors take warning,
A red sky at night,
The sailors delight.”

The same rhyme answers for the rainbow as it does for the sky.

In squally weather this old doggerel has its truth.

“When the rain’s before the wind
Topsail halliards you must mind,
When the wind’s before the rain,
Soon you may make sail again.”

* * * * *

“At sea with low and falling glass,
Soundly sleeps the careless ass.
Only when it’s high and rising,
Safely rests the careful wise one.”

* * * * *

“Evening red and morning grey,
Are excellent signs of a very fine day.”

* * * * *

“Mackerel sky and mare’s tails
Make lofty ships carry low sails.”

* * * * *

The doggerel for the barometer is:

“Quick rise after low
Foretells stronger blow.
Long foretold, long last,
Short notice soon past.”

The flight of the sea gull is also an indication of the weather.

“The wind will blow hard when the gull comes ashore.”

* * * * *

“Sea gull, sea gull, sit on the sand,
It’s never good weather when you’re on the land.”

RULES OF THE ROAD AT SEA

Rules of the Road at Sea

The rules governing the direction which ships may take at sea are very clearly defined by the international laws of all maritime countries, and when violated by masters of either steam or sailing vessels, are very drastically punished. If a collision occurs by disregarding the rule of the road at sea, the ship so doing is held responsible for all damage, and in case, as it sometimes happens, lives are sacrificed, the master of the ship at fault is tried before the court of the country in whose jurisdiction the casualty happens for manslaughter, and punished as a common criminal. For these reasons, “Rules of the Road” as they are termed, are strictly followed by most navigators.

When a ship is at sea, the officer in charge of the deck is usually expected to keep a bright lookout. A following ship must always keep clear of a ship ahead. If the weather is foggy the steam whistle is periodically blown. But foggy or clear, good weather or bad, at sundown all lights are in their places and the lookout man takes his stand in the crows nest. The lights of a steamer at sea, electricity being now much used, are a white light on the foremast head, a green light on the starboard bow or bridge, and a red light on the port, all of which have clearly defined significations, and to the initiated speak a plain language, which is thus poetically put by some ancient nautical genius.

At sea, two steamships meeting:--

“When all three lights I see ahead,
I port my helm and show my red.”

Two steamships passing:--

“Green to green or red to red.
Perfect safety, go ahead.”

Two steamships crossing:--

“If to my starboard, red appear,
It is my duty to keep clear
To act as judgment says is proper;
To port, or starboard, back or stop her.

But when upon my port is seen
A steamer’s starboard light of green,
There’s naught for me to do but see,
That green to port, keeps clear of me.

Both in safety and in doubt,
I always keep a bright lookout;
In danger, with no room to turn,
I ease her, stop her, go a-stern.”

For sailing vessels, the rule of the road is:--

“On starboard tack, with yards braced tight,
See that your red and green are bright,
For every ship that’s in your way,
Must clear your track both night and day.

But if on the port tack you steer,
Stand by! for you must then keep clear
Of every close hauled ship ahead,
No matter whether green or red.”

SIGNALLING AT SEA

Signalling at Sea

A ship desiring to hold a conversation with another ship while on the deep must first display the flag of the nation to which she belongs.

The other ship immediately hoists the flag of her country. The first ship then begins the conversation which can be carried on indefinitely.

Eighteen flags of various shapes and colors constitute the international “Code of Signals.” It is a most interesting mathematical fact that, with this small number of flags, and never more than four displayed at any one time, any amount of conversation can be kept up; and no fewer than 78642 questions can be asked and answered. When the new “Code of Signals,” consisting of the whole alphabet is put into general use, the number of questions will be more than doubled.

In signalling at night the conversation is much more limited, and is carried on by means of various colored lights, by guns and rockets.

The national ensign upside down, or in its absence any flag or token unusually displayed from mast or yard signifies distress and need of assistance, and at night a rocket has the same meaning. Any vessel seeing such signals at a day or night must, if able, go immediately to give relief, and is expected to do all in its power to render assistance in food or the saving of life. The towing of a distressed ship to port or safe anchorage is optional and cannot be insisted on.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.